“It puzzles me where you got—I don’t mean offense—only I can’t help wondering——”
“How I came to have original thoughts and a grammatical manner of speech? Look here——” he held up his stained fingers—“aren’t these the hands of a man of letters?”
“And a man of action,” I said, with a laugh. “But——”
“It’s no use, Renny. I can’t look further back than this morning.”
“You can recall, you know. You don’t deny each existence that capacity?”
“Perhaps I could; but to what advantage? To shovel up a whole graveyard of sleeping remembrances to find the seed of one dead nettle that thrusts its head through? No, thank you. Besides, if it comes to that, I might put the same question to you.”
“Oh, I can easily answer it. I get all my way of speaking from my father first, and, secondly, because I love books.”
He looked at me oddly.
“You’re a modest chicken,” he said. “But I should like to meet your father.”
I could not echo his wish.